


Rocky Road

by boxparade



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So what if Brendon was a hopeless romantic? What could anyone expect after he’d spent the last four days curled up on the couch watching daytime TV and those romantic comedies that aren’t really comedic at all, the ones where they have a few jokes in the beginning and the rest is filled with crying and kissing, and sometimes crying while kissing.</p><p>It was all Spencer’s fault, anyway, that Brendon was sitting here with his second tub of Rocky Road, sobbing around his spoon as Kate Winslet watches Leonardo DiCaprio sink into the depths of the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocky Road

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: References to past self-harm in a (hopefully) non-triggering way, recreational drug/alcohol use that could be misconstrued as a coping method.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. None of this actually happened, so far as I know. This work does not, in any way, reflect upon the opinions or personality traits of the real people it is written about.
> 
> I wrote this for me, because it seems like self-injury is a taboo subject reserved only for the most "emo" and horribly written fanfiction out there. I wanted to write about it in a way that reflects the role it plays in the lives of those that have moved past it to recovery. It's not meant to be triggering, but if you're particularly sensitive to the subject you might want to read something else.
> 
> Un-beta'd. Because apparently there's a super secret society of fanfiction writers that all help each other out, and I missed the memo on where the meeting place is for everyone, because AO3 doesn't have a forum and LJ befuddles me to no end.

The first time Spencer kissed him, it had felt like a breath of fresh air in the middle of spring, when the entire world was filled with the lofty scent of flowers and life. Brendon didn’t realize it then, but when he thought back now, that was probably when Brendon’s subconscious decided to spend the rest of forever with Spencer. At least, it was the only moment that really made sense, because the four years of high school had been hard on Brendon and he’d still been recovering two years after graduation, and Spencer had been that one spark that picked him up, spun him around, and set him down a path toward something so opposite from the life he knew that he was convinced he hadn’t even felt the sun until that day.

So what if Brendon was a hopeless romantic? What could anyone expect after he’d spent the last four days curled up on the couch watching daytime TV and those romantic comedies that aren’t really comedic at all, the ones where they have a few jokes in the beginning and the rest is filled with crying and kissing, and sometimes crying while kissing.

It was all Spencer’s fault, anyway, that Brendon was sitting here with his second tub of Rocky Road, sobbing around his spoon as Kate Winslet watches Leonardo DiCaprio sink into the depths of the sea.

Spencer was the one that decided he _needed_ to see Jackie and Crystal and his parents that week, and that Brendon couldn’t come because he _needed_ one last moment with his whole family before Jackie and Crystal both flew overseas for 9 months to study at universities just across the English Channel from each other.

Brendon had pouted and whined and bitched at Spencer about the way he still wasn’t considered part of their family, but he’d let Spencer go because Brendon was an awesome boyfriend like that. And then he’d proceeded to empty Jewel of all the Rocky Road they had in stock and shove the entire Romance DVDs section of the library into his bag.

Spencer would probably say that he was being melodramatic, which he was, but that was because Spencer wasn’t here and Brendon could totally get away with being ridiculous and girly for a weekend and then return everything before Spencer came back so no one would ever be the wiser.

Plus Brendon had spent years on a tour bus watching Ryan sulk and write and watch strange French films and be generally girly and weird, and Spencer never said a thing about that, so Brendon was totally entitled, here.

Also, Leonardo DiCaprio was hot.

 

It wasn’t until he’d decided that ice cream would taste so much better with alcohol, and until he’d found the chocolate malt liquor hidden behind the expired box of Corn Flakes, and until he’d tried to make something akin to a root beer float with straight malt liquor and was, quite possible, really really smashed, that Brendon realized how strangely Spencer had been acting before he left.

Which, really, was something Brendon should’ve noticed _before_ now, but that was besides the point because he was fairly sure Spencer had packed an _entire_ suitcase of clothes even though he was only staying a little under a week, and maybe it was just a ploy to get his mother to do his laundry but—

Spencer had made a big deal out of saying goodbye. Brendon had been screwing around with his guitar, trying to get the melody just right for the bridge he’d been working on for what felt like months, and Spencer had come in and repeated that he was leaving until Brendon hummed in response, and then he’d gotten all weird and pulled Brendon’s guitar out of his hands and kissed him longer than usual and kept mumbling things like “Don’t do anything stupid” and “Don’t forget to feed the dog” and—

Okay. Brendon was overreacting. Obviously, it was just Spencer being a good boyfriend, all caring and responsible and shit. Because that was who Spencer _was._ He was like a mother hen, all fussy and silly about the weirdest things, and he’d probably just been trying to remind Brendon not to let the entire house fall apart while he was gone.

But—

Since when did Spencer take his pillow with him? He had pillows at his parents’ house, they’d kept his room as a guest room all these years for when he came home or they had others over. And he’d packed up his toothbrush and the spare shampoo in the bathroom and his razor and— Okay, well, those were all completely normal things to take for a week-long trip, but still.

Something didn’t feel right. Brendon didn’t often listen to his instincts, because they tended to be wrong, like Darwin was trying to tell him something from beyond the grave, but this time felt different. This time something felt _actually_ off. Spencer had been all stiff-lipped the week before he left, and he’d been leaving the house at random hours, and having hushed phone conversations in the study or once, in the hall closet. And Brendon knew for a fact that he’d called Ryan at least three times, and since when did they start talking again? And why hadn’t Brendon been clued into the fact that Spencer and Ryan were still best friends even after all the things that happened during the split?

Suddenly he felt really, inexplicably nauseous. Which, you know, might’ve been the booze catching up to him and okay, yeah, he was gonna need to find a toilet _right the fuck now._

The puking part was not fun, but the part where his brain felt a little clearer after all was said and done, well, that part was welcome. Because suddenly Brendon saw it, connected all the pieces in his head like some twisted puzzle, and with a pang in his chest that felt a lot like a dagger, he realized that maybe this was the beginning of the end. Spencer was leaving him. He was just too kind to do it right out, like ripping off a bandaid, quick but much less painful.

He was moving his shit to his parents’ house, he was making up bullshit lines about reception being shitty with construction nearby, he’d been avoiding looking Brendon in the eye for a week and—

Shit.

Brendon really needed to sleep and sober up before his mind let him get any farther. Right. Bed. Other side of the house.

This was going to be an adventure.

 

 

Unfortunately, the morning didn’t clear up much at all. Brendon was hungover, and he hadn’t even had that much to drink, except that the chocolate liquor had sort of tasted like candy and that maybe led to him having a bit too much because they’d run out of actual chocolate the day before.

He didn’t even remember the whole Spencer Issue — that’s what he was calling it now, capital letters suddenly forming in his mind the night before, somewhere in the haze of alcohol — until he was watching the toaster for his pop-tart to come out all warm and gooey like magic.

And really, in the light of the morning it didn’t seem like such an astronomical thing, Spencer acting weird and taking all his shit and refusing to call Brendon or even let Brendon have a decent conversation before the phone line mysteriously disconnected.

It was just— Brendon was lonely, okay? He’d been cooped up in the house for days, and yeah, he could go see Shane or take Bogart to the park or something, but thinking about it made him feel pathetic because that one time Brendon had left for two weeks to try to fix things with his sister, Spencer hadn’t done much of anything but hang around in the house, and this whole thing just made Brendon feel way too co-dependent, and after his last relationship had gone the way of total breakdown and helplessness after the break-up, he was wary to let himself get that way again.

So, no. He wasn’t going to go freak out to Shane just to have him start talking about things like independence and the equilibrium of a pair and all that other new-age stuff Regan had kept pushing until he started thinking that way, too.

Besides, Spencer was coming home in a few days. Most likely. If he didn’t decide that Brendon wasn’t worth th— Right, he was gonna go watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for awhile. Saturday morning cartoons were the shit.

He wasn’t quite sure when the pot became a part of it, though. Probably sometime after he found it buried in between the cushions of the couch, knowing instantly it was Jon’s old stash because he’d spent a few weeks in their house and anywhere Jon stayed for more than a few days ended up with random bags of pot stuck in the weirdest places. Once Bronx had found some shoved in between the oven and the counter and Ashlee had been so furious that she’d almost gone storming into Jon’s apartment with a kitchen knife.

Bronx was fine, of course, he hadn’t quite gotten the bag open and Brendon still swears on his life that Pete stole it before Ashlee could throw it out and smoked up when one of his newest baby bands had come into town and he needed to ‘bond’.

But being high made Brendon a little less worried about Spencer and that was good, definitely good, even though he felt like he had fuzz in his brain and the turtles on the screen were definitely about to crawl out of there and come tie one of those ridiculous bandanas around his head and then he’d turn into a turtle and get stuck on his back and never be able to— Oh hey, the doorbell was ringing, that was totally the doorbell right?

Brendon stumbled up and to the front door, hanging off it for support and giggling when he saw the guy wearing the funny hat standing on his doorstep. “Hi,” he said sloppily, then giggled again.

“Hi, you ordered a pizza?” The guy prompted, and oh, hey, maybe he did.

“I did?”

The guy cocked a fuzzy eyebrow at him.

“That is _so cool,_ ” Brendon grinned manically, because hey, surprise pizza was awesome. After another moment of staring with a lopsided grin at the pizza guy, he finally got around to digging up some money and then the guy gave him his pizza and took off before Brendon had managed to get the door shut and locked.

Then there was pizza and it was cheesy and awesome and the turtles were definitely not important anymore. Brendon didn’t even _think_ about Spencer, because Spencer was like, really far away and stuff.

Right.

Definitely not thinking about Spencer.

 _Fuck._

 

 

The next day passed in a complete blur, because between the booze and the pot, there wasn’t a lot of room left in him for actual logic, so most of the day he spent finger painting on the fridge, forgetting about the paper because paper was dumb and it also gave him paper cuts.

At some point, between one bowl and the next, before he’d found the _second_ stash of pot shoved into one of Spencer’s many shoes he never wore, he had a moment to actually think about Spencer. And the fact that Spencer had left with that telltale crease between his brow, and there had been too many words, for Spencer. The last week, there had been far too many words, far too many “Love you”s and “ _God,_ Bren”s and secret smiles that he thought Brendon couldn’t see.

Under normal circumstances, that would make Brendon feel all warm inside, the kind of warmth that only Spencer could conjure. But it was more than that. It was the way Spencer had abruptly cut off one of his conversations with Ryan and Brendon walked in the room, the way he’d overheard enough things like _But he doesn’t know, he can’t know_ and _This isn’t gonna be easy, not with him, Ry_ to actually start to piece them together enough to worry.

It was the way Spencer had kissed him right before he left, like he was distracted, like he wasn’t even there, and _god_ , how could Brendon miss this? All this, so much, staring him right in the face. It all pointed to something bad, and the most logical conclusion was that Spencer was cheating — all the hushed phone conversations and sneaking out at odd hours and the way he’d kept suggesting that maybe they should take a little break from recording, just for awhile to gather their ideas so they had a lot to work with when they finally got to it.

But Spencer wouldn’t. If Brendon knew him at all, he knew Spencer wasn’t the type to cheat, he’d be too guilt-racked to keep up with it. But something, _something_ was happening. It showed all over the place, and it was all over Spencer’s face when he told Brendon he really couldn’t come with to see Jackie and Crystal off. Brendon just wished he could read it.

But Brendon didn’t know what to do, or even if there was anything he could do. He felt so helpless, the phone lines all fucked up, maybe by design or maybe not, and not like talking with Spencer would fix whatever he’d done wrong to fuck this up.

He tried very carefully not to think about Justin. Justin and the whirl of pain that came with him, but he wasn’t entirely successful. Not with the story of everything that happened written all over his arms, and Spencer had never asked, had never even acknowledged, but maybe he knew anyway. Maybe he’d finally figured out that Brendon was always going to be a little less than perfect, was never going to be able to say he was all fixed now.

That’s what had scared Justin away, after all. He’d called Brendon a freak and then proceeded to make himself the cause of the problem for the next few months Brendon spent trying to get over him.

Spencer had been there for the whole thing — they all had, Jon and Ryan and Zack and everyone on tour — but he’d done a pretty damn good job of keeping his personal life to himself. Too many years spent hiding things from his parents had taught him exactly what to do to keep people from asking questions.

It was a little sick, now that Brendon thought about it.

But Spencer wasn’t Justin, he wouldn’t. He knew Brendon, and even if he didn’t really know about that, surely he’d figured it out. They’d had sex more times than Brendon could count, by now, and they lived in California by the beach, it’s not like Brendon was trying to hide anything. Not from Spencer.

But maybe—

Brendon sighed and uncapped the bottle of rum he’d found hiding behind the gross veggie mix chips Ryan had bought when he’d been on one of his health kicks, still sitting in the cabinet next to the dishwasher.

As for the rum and coke, he might’ve mixed up which one was one part and which was two, but he figured getting drunk was better than the alternative right now, because at least he didn’t already have an addiction to alcohol.

At least Spencer wouldn’t have to know about it this way.

 

It was quite possible Brendon had misjudged exactly how many days had passed since Spencer left. After he found the pot in the shoe — he’d had a good laughing fit about that image, a pot in a shoe, even if the pot wasn’t really a pot — he must’ve had a constant high going, and Jon’s shit was _good,_ and that was the one thing Brendon missed about not really seeing Jon anymore, is that all the good pot went away with him. On the rare occasions Spencer and Brendon did smoke, wherever Spencer got it was much less potent and much less awesome than the stuff Jon always managed to dig up.

So maybe he hadn’t really kept track of the time with the way the TV was showing a marathon of all the Star Trek episodes and those were seriously cool when you were stoned and drunk, and the way he hadn’t really opened the curtains or really even moved from the couch, and yeah, it was entirely possible it was Monday and Spencer was home. At least, Brendon certainly hoped that it was Spencer fighting his way in the door, fiddling with the lock and scraping his bags against the wall. If not, Brendon had some stranger in his house, and he was fairly sure his feet were asleep and he wouldn’t stand a chance at fighting off a burglar when he was this drunk. Not to mention, he didn’t think a half-empty bucket of Rocky Road made much of a weapon.

“Bren?” Spencer’s voice called, and Brendon smiled because Spencer was definitely not a burglar and wasn’t wearing a ski mask, well, most likely wasn’t wearing a ski mask, and then he stopped smiling because Spencer wasn’t supposed to be here, he was supposed to be calling from his parents’ house to tell Brendon that they were done and over and all the other horrible things Brendon had spent the last two hours playing out.

“Spnnsr, Spnns, i’s like— Wait, why’re you not burglaring?”

There was shifting of bags and keys rattling on the counter and it was all way louder than it needed to be before there were footsteps and Spencer was asking “Bren, are you _drunk?”_

“Yesm,” Brendon answered dutifully, trying to salute because it seemed like the thing to do, but sort of just wound up flopping his hand around at his side.

“It’s _nine in the morning,_ why the hell are you drunk? And eating….ice cream?”

Brendon shook his head furiously before he decided that was a bad idea, the image of Spencer standing over him blurring prettily, then said “Not mrnin’, Spnnsr, nine in the _aft’rnoon._ ”

Spencer blinked as Brendon broke into a fit of giggles, then asked “Brendon, what have you been smoking? Because I told you the last time we found Jon’s old pot stashed behind the microwave, that’s been there for years and who knows what kind of shit absorbed into it since then, you could be smoking mouse piss and—No, seriously, you can’t—You aren’t allowed to give me the puppy eyes, it’s not my fault if your brain turns purple because you smoked up while I wasn’t here and— Brendon? Hey, Brendon, dude, why’re you crying? I— Shit, come on, don’t—”

Brendon hadn’t really noticed when it happened, but his giggles had sort of turned into some kind of sobbing and it was unsettling, the way he couldn’t control it, which only served to upset him more, and it was definitely the drugs doing this to him but it didn’t make him feel any better about right now.

Spencer crouched down next to Brendon, pressed a wide palm to his forehead, and then murmured “Seriously, Bren, what’s wrong?”

Brendon turned until his face was pressed against the back of the couch, then mumbled something along the lines of “Thought you were leaving” and Spencer was instantly pulling at his shoulder until Brendon was looking up at him again, saying “What? I couldn’t hear, but— Did you just say—”

Before Spencer could form a proper response though, Brendon’s stomach was rolling and he was probably turning green, because Spencer managed to grab the trash bin across the coffee table and shove it under Brendon as he leaned over the couch and emptied the entire bottle of rum he’d had to drink in the last hour.

Right. This was kind of a disaster.

 

Brendon wasn’t sure why he was waking up, seeing as he couldn’t remember falling asleep, or even getting to the bed, because the last thing remembered was the unpleasant taste of rum the second time around, mixed with the acidity of his stomach, and next moment he was definitely awake because he managed to get to the bathroom to rinse his mouth out before the taste inspired his stomach to start spinning again.

He brushed his teeth twice before deeming it acceptable to do something else, like maybe try to figure out what was happening in his life. As he recalled, Spencer had gotten home at some point yesterday, though he wasn’t quite sure it was yesterday at all, considering Brendon had sort of skipped a night or two and the sleeping thing had been pretty erratic as of late.

Didn’t really seem that important in the haze of the last few days, sleeping when it was dark out. Who made that rule, anyway?

Brendon stumbled into the living room, grateful for once that their house was all one level, and followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen table, where Spencer was flipping through an old Rolling Stone magazine with a pot of coffee sitting next to him on the table, a mug already filled and mixed with creamer and sugar, just the way Brendon liked it.

Brendon practically dove for the coffee, somehow fumbling his way to a sitting position on the way there and cradling it like a lover, holding the lip of the mug right under his nose before sipping at the too-hot liquid, burning his tongue a little but he really didn’t care right now.

He’d managed to get down at least half the mug before he even remembered that Spencer was there and looked up. Spencer cocked an eyebrow at him, like he was amused, but he wasn’t smiling.

In lieu of actually saying something that needed to be said, Brendon jerked his chin toward the pot of coffee and asked “Aren’t you going to have any?”

Spencer just raised his eyebrow a fraction of an inch higher and said “It’s six at night, Brendon. I don’t know about you, but I actually intend to do this thing called sleeping tonight.”

“Right,” Brendon responded slowly, and then kept sipping at his coffee. Spencer waited until he’d finished before pushing aside the magazine and looking at Brendon until Brendon looked up with wide eyes that probably gave away how terrified he was right now.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Brendon responded too quickly, and then winced because he was being completely transparent here. Spencer waited patiently, and Brendon had to swallow three times before he could actually speak. “Just— I just got a little hysterical, that’s all, it’s not really—”

“Bren, you were stoned _and_ drunk at nine in the morning, and I’m pretty sure you made a nest out of the empty food containers in the living room. It’s gross. I’m not cleaning it up for you.”

Brendon scrunched up his face and looked at the table, playing with the empty coffee mug in his hands, wishing there were coffee in it just so he’d have something to do. He didn’t have his glasses on — he was pretty sure he lost them sometime after trying to make a pyramid of the empty Rocky Road containers that had, eventually, wound up part of the nest Spencer was talking about — and everything was slightly out of focus, blurry and soft at the edges. It made reading Spencer’s expression something akin to impossible, because even with his glasses and Ryan to act as translator, they usually only got a vague idea of an emotion.

“Do I really need to hire someone to babysit you next time I leave?”

“No,” Brendon sulked, but wouldn’t look up.

Spencer sighed. “Then mind explaining what the hell brought this on?”

When Brendon didn’t answer, Spencer must’ve changed tactics, because he started firing off questions with a lot less sympathy behind his words. “Are you going through your mid-life crisis early? Did someone die that I don’t know about? Is this some sort of delayed mental breakdown about the band breaking up? Or are you trying to break up with _me?_ ”

Brendon’s head snapped up, a little too fast to be anything but nauseating, but he had enough sense to say “What? No!” before he had to clamp his mouth shut in an attempt to keep the hangover at bay. He really should’ve taken some aspirin before he went to go sleep this off.

“Then what?” Spencer demanded, but it was softer this time, and for the first time Brendon saw the worry there, the concern lacing Spencer’s features that he’d previously assumed to be anger and that— Well, that changed things, a little bit.

He had to look away before he could get the words out, but he mumbled “I thought you were breaking up with _me,_ ” and then all it took was a second for Spencer’s entire expression to melt and then phase into something like anger but not as scary.

“Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because,” Brendon said shortly, standing up and turning away, pacing to the couch and collapsing down on it because it meant he didn’t have to face Spencer anymore.

Spencer just got up and followed, sitting next to Brendon but keeping his hands pressed between his knees, the space between them no more than a few inches but still so far.

“Because?” Spencer prompted, and Brendon swallowed and kept his eyes on the stain on the wall in front of him, still avoiding Spencer’s eyes like they’d burn his mind out if he saw them.

“Because, you were acting really weird, and having secret phone conversations and leaving at odd times without telling me where you were going, and then you left and you packed _everything_ , like, too much, with your pillow and shampoo and everything you’d need if you were moving out and then you wouldn’t call and every time I called you the phone wouldn’t work and—”

“Bren.”

“—I don’t even know why you’d want this in the first place, so I thought maybe I fucked it up again, and you realized Justin had a real reason for ditching me when he did, and that I—”

Before he could get any farther, Spencer had cupped the sides of his face and pulled him into a kiss, hot and wet and a little desperate on Brendon’s end, and it was over too soon, with Spencer pulling away to mumble “Bren, shut up,” against his lips.

Brendon bit down on his lower lip and did as he was told, watching Spencer with wide, open eyes, and suddenly it wasn’t so scary looking him in the eyes anymore, with the way they were so blue and so focused on him, just him.

Spencer stated slowly, with exaggerated breaths like maybe he thought Brendon wasn’t going to understand otherwise. “Bren, why in hell would you think that?”

Brendon’s eyes shifted to the side again, looking at a point just over Spencer’s left shoulder and not moving. He chewed on his bottom lip for a little while until he’d formed a response in his head, hoping it wouldn’t get scrambled on the way out, because he didn’t really think he could deal with fixing things right now if he managed to screw them up all over again.

“Because I maybe, sort of, might kind of have abandonment issues,” Brendon licked his lips.

Spencer snorted, then winced at the way Brendon stiffened. “Yeah, I know,” Spencer responded before Brendon could try to end this conversation, even though he wouldn’t. Not now. “I figured as much.” Somewhere, below Brendon’s line of sight, Spencer fumbled for his hand and found it, holding on tight. Brendon appreciated the gesture; Spencer wasn’t much for hand-holding, but he always seemed to know when Brendon needed something, some sort of connection holding them together.

Brendon was going to attempt to laugh it all off and skirt past the rest of the issues with little more than a passing glance, desperately clawing to get back to something normal; before he could, though, Spencer started up again.

“But we’ve had this conversation before, Bren. The one about how I’m _not_ leaving. If you remember. I didn’t think I’d have to prove it to you again, not after Ryan—” They both winced at that one, but Spencer smoothed it over, “not after the split. I told you, I’m in this. We’re in this togeth— Don’t make me quote High School Musical at you.”

Brendon laughed a little at that one, short but so so sweet, and Spencer smiled at his reaction, even if the laugh got a little teary toward the end, out of relief if nothing else.

“Still,” Spencer pushed on, “I think you overreacted, just a little.” The last bit was said with enough sarcasm that even Brendon couldn’t miss it, drawing out a tiny smile.

“I—” Brendon started, then wet his lips and swallowed and tried again. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really so good at….coping. With things.”

Spencer deflated at that, loosened a little, and Brendon’s shoulders set in a hard line, ready to face the fact that maybe Spencer really was just realizing that Brendon wasn’t quite so normal, didn’t always know how to react accordingly. But Spencer’s voice was soft when he spoke, quiet like they were the only sound in the world, “Yeah, I kinda figured that one out, too.”

From where their hands were clasped together, Spencer loosened his grip and then, without losing contact, slid his hands up Brendon’s arm, over the ridges of white scars that still caught Brendon by surprise sometimes, stopping to rest somewhere just before the bend in his elbow. Brendon’s eyes snapped up, darting between each of Spencer’s to try to figure him out, get some sort of gauge on whether this was okay or not, and after so many people meeting him and asking questions he still didn’t have answers to, it felt like, for the first time, Spencer already knew all the answers, wordless as they were.

Spencer’s expression closed down a little, just before he asked, stunted and unsure “Did you—? While I was—”

“No!” Brendon replied quickly, then took a breath to calm himself. “No, no, I don’t— I haven’t. Not in a long time. Just…” Suddenly the weight of it found its place on Brendon’s shoulders, the realization that he was actually talking about this with someone that, he was fairly sure, wouldn’t run away; wouldn’t look down on him. “Sometimes, I still— It’s always there, you know?” Brendon asked, catching the reflection of the lamp in Spencer’s eyes and holding there. “It’s always— I don’t think I can ever really be past it. For a long time, it was the only thing I turned to. So sometimes, when I’m really—when it’s really bad, it’s sort of like my default reaction? But I don’t— I stop. Most times, I stop before I… It’s just, I don’t always know if I’ll—”

“Yeah,” Spencer whispered, and then leaned in to kiss Brendon again, softly, like the ghost of a kiss, before he pulled back for just a breath, then leaned in, more insistent this time, almost hungry. Brendon really didn’t mind, not at all. He hadn’t felt so light ever, like he was floating, and maybe it was some weird after-effect of the pot but he was fairly sure it had more to do with the fact that this was _Spencer_ , and he knew everything there was to know about Brendon, and he hadn’t run screaming from the room or started looking at him sideways, he’d actually promised to stay, forever, and that was— Wow.

But as much as Brendon was all for the kissing, because kissing was great and generally led to other great things, there was still something nagging at the back of his mind, working its way in. He pulled back sharply, getting a startled squeak out of Spencer that Brendon was never going to let him live down, then asked in a rush, “Wait, I don’t get it. If you’re not leaving me then why were you being so secretive?”

Brendon staunchly ignored the eye-roll Spencer gave him, one hand still gripping the side of Brendon’s belly, trying to tug him closer. “No, really. I wanna know! There were all the phone calls and the random leaving in the middle of the day, and then there was that _horrible reception_ ploy—”

“That was _actually_ just horrible reception, Bren, there was construction—”

“And you spent way too long over there, there’s no way it was all just because your sisters are leaving, I mean, your sisters are awesome but—”

“Brendon, seriously, drop it.”

“Absolutely not!” Brendon grinned madly, warm and happy and back to being rather bouncy now that the coffee had muted the worst of the hangover. “I wanna know what super secret secrets you’re keeping from me, Spencer Smith, I—”

“Super secret secrets?”

“—wanna know exactly what you were doing this last week, because if I’m dating a Russian spy—”

“ _Russian spy?_ ”

“—I think I have the right to know because that could get dangerous and—”

“You’re really gonna make me do this now?” Spencer asked, a pained expression on his face but he was still smiling and laughing moments later, when Brendon decided to climb into Spencer’s lap and loop his arms around his neck in a ploy to get Spencer to tell him what was going on, because Brendon was curious as hell know, and he hoped whatever it was involved waffles, because he was kind of hungry.

“Yes, yes, right now,” Brendon bounced a little and ignored the way Spencer pinched his side, completely disregarding the blatant look of childlike joy Brendon was wearing, instead chewing on his bottom lip in a way that was too cute to be manly and shifting awkwardly to dig around in the pocket of his jeans. Brendon was being deliberately unhelpful, because he could and Spencer totally owed him for all the crazy amounts of weight he was gonna gain from all that ice cream, but Spencer seemed to get whatever it was he was looking for and his fist came out and hovered somewhere in the space between them.

“Bren,” Spencer said, mock-seriously but with too much affection to be a real joke. Then, with some tricky little twist of his hand he flipped open whatever it was in his hand, which, coincidentally, looked exactly like the velvety case that wedding rings came in, and Brendon would know because he’d watched every romantic comedy there was ever in the history of the world in the last week, and Spencer’s next words were cut off somewhere in the middle, sounding something like “Will you marrmmph—” because brendon squealed “Oh my _god”_ at a pitch that would make all the girls in the movies jealous, and then kissed Spencer with every ounce of energy he had in him.

Which, you know, was a lot. Considering all the ice cream.


End file.
